


The Troubles (You Always Love Me Too Much)

by justtopostmyfic



Series: U2's Songs of Innocence [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruce Banner Feels, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Bruce Banner, Science Boyfriends, Sick Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Whump, Vomiting, ptsd tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-08 16:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11085672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justtopostmyfic/pseuds/justtopostmyfic
Summary: Tony Stark has weak days that only Bruce Banner is allowed to see. Bruce is always loving and patient.Tony swiped at his teary eyes, trying to be covert. There was nothing left in his stomach but he didn't feel much better. He told himself he should feel loved to be so cared for by someone amazing like Bruce, but he only felt beyond humiliated by his weakness."Fresh air. C' we go outside?" the older man's voice sounded small and hesitant against Bruce's chest."Of course, baby." Bruce carried him out onto the balcony, setting Tony down on the sofa.





	The Troubles (You Always Love Me Too Much)

**Author's Note:**

> _"God knows it's not easy /_  
>  _Taking on the shape of someone else's_  
>  _Pain."_  
>  \- U2, The Troubles

It was past 2 p.m. on a Saturday, and Tony was seated slumped over the kitchen island with a cold plate of scrambled eggs and toast pushed in front of him. He had just woken up, yet he didn't think he could get through the day. Sleep finally came the night before at dawn and taunted him fitfully.

He would give anything for a brief reprieve of feeling normal, and not to have the weight of the world on his chest and the flashbacks behind his eyelids as clearly as though projected on the HUD. 

Absently, one hand kneaded against the ghost of the arc reactor, which was the only way Tony could mildly comfort himself. The other arm laid on the counter and pillowed his heavy head.

He didn't hear the footsteps of someone entering the kitchen, and was startled when a large hand landed gently on his back.

"Tone," 

He stiffened.

"it's me, Bruce." __

__

__

_Okay, this was good, he liked this touch. Bruce was home._

Of all the residents in the Tower, he could only stand to be found this way by Bruce. Bruce had seen him naked regularly, so this tableau of vulnerability was nothing.

Bruce didn't say anything more for several minutes; his lover was the quiet type after all. Instead his warm hand roamed all over Tony's back, methodical and comforting, like an artist covering an entire canvass with layers of paint using broad brush strokes. 

_A soothing imagery for a soothing sensation._

Bruce's touches were always just the right weight, the right pressure. Already he was starting to feel not as terrible as when he woke up.

His back had eased up, almost free of tension. Bruce slid his arms around Tony's midriff and whispered behind him in his ear, "Wanna go to the penthouse, Tony? We could both relax."

Tony nodded, his feet sliding from the high stool to the ground. He turned to see Bruce for the first time that day: purple dress shirt, jeans, satchel still on his shoulders. 

Bruce smiled a wordless hello, pressed a chaste kiss to Tony's lips that was received eagerly, then walked in step with Tony to their private elevator, his hand never leaving Tony's back.

The full plate of eggs sat forgotten; Tony didn't wake up hungry anyway.

"How's Jen?" Tony murmured.

"She's doing well, great actually. Finally adopted that cocker spaniel she was considering. Renamed him Thorby." Bruce grinned as Tony chuckled. 

Bruce treasured his weekly visits to his cousin's place. Helped him remember what the real New York was like, Bruce had told him a long time ago.

\----------------  
Bruce untucked his shirt and unbuttoned the top few buttons to make himself comfortable, just as Tony had moved to stand by the luxurious sofa in the living room.

"Just got out of bed not long ago," he mumbled by way of explanation. Bruce replied with a grin, he had guessed as much, but there was no need to shame Tony for his sleep problems.

Bruce plonked down on the couch and Tony sank right into the embrace of Bruce's outstretched arm. Bruce turned on the TV, knowing the background noise would dull the persistent buzzing in his genius boyfriend's overwrought mind. 

Ordinarily, he would let Tony pick what to watch, but he knew Tony was on auto-pilot now and just needed some human contact. They would cuddle, nap, or talk, whatever Tony wanted.

Bruce casually started a taped marathon of Antiques Roadshow, depending on it to be the most calming. He had planned this recording beforehand, having learnt his lesson from the History Channel and Nat Geo with their damn alien investigations and cave exploring.

Tony leaned against Bruce without any protests, legs drawn up against his chest, and watched Antiques Roadshow with mild interest. _So he's having another quiet day, Bruce thought to himself._

The quiet days had been more frequent since The Battle, Tony withdrawing into himself, though clearly heartsick and traumatized. It hurt to see. 

Bruce was used to quietness for most of his life before meeting Tony, and he yearned for the energetic ramblings like clockwork every day again. Bruce would always be there for Tony; he had all the time in the world to help Tony get better, at his own pace.

Every now and then, Tony would squirm against Bruce and sigh quietly. Tony's sighs were hard to interpret, sometimes they were sighs of contentment (usually when Bruce was hugging him), sometimes they could be sighs of frustration (usually in the lab), or worry (usually when Bruce returned after a Hulk Out). Bruce kept up with stroking Tony in his arms. The whole intent was to make Tony relaxed and comfortable.

At the start of the third episode, Bruce noticed Tony's eyes drifting away from the screen more frequently, staring at the coffee table or a spot in the corner instead. 

"No, we are not going on Antiques Roadshow with any furniture you have in this room." he joked, earning a watery bemused chuckle from Tony.

\----------------  
Tony's state of being was in an agonizing conflict. On the surface he was comfortable and happy being snuggled against Bruce, but his insides were in turmoil. 

His mind was roaring with dark remembrances, his chest dull and fuzzy with ache. His stomach was churning and he kept shifting against Bruce to try to placate it. The aftertaste of three mouthfuls of eggs he managed to swallow was ravaging him with nausea.

He couldn't concentrate on the antiques on-screen and tried fruitlessly to calm his insides by focusing somewhere else in the expansive room. It wasn't working, everything inside him was still provoking him dizzily.

It was probably the end of another episode because the host showed back up. Tony crawled out of Bruce's embrace and pushed himself to sit up with his feet planted on the ground. Both hands held his head as he stared into the plush beige carpet flanked by his bare feet. 

_I feel shitty enough to throw up, and maybe I'll feel better after I barf._

The spoilt side of Tony wanted to throw up right where he sat. He felt too leaden and too weak and too nauseous to move a muscle, and he had never had to clean up after himself anyway. Except he was painfully conscious instead of drunk now, and he especially didn't want Bruce to clean up his mess, because that's the sort of considerate guy Bruce is. 

Kind, sweet Bruce, who had muted the TV and had a hand on Tony's back, who would have no idea what was going on.

"Feeling sick." Tony mumbled as he gathered the strength and propelled himself off the couch, lurching toward the bathroom.

\----------------  
For a sick guy, Tony stumbled awfully fast, and Bruce found him hunched in on himself by the toilet bowl. 

He looked like he could barely prop himself upright, but Tony hated touching the toilet bowl even though it was quite immaculately sanitized. _Who could blame him?_

If this were a normal-sized bathroom, or at least the normal bathrooms Bruce knew before he came to Stark Tower, there would have been a wall or corner or tub that Tony could lean on in proximity to the bowl. But in Stark Tower, every bathroom was spacious and the walls were almost ten feet away. 

_Such a terrible irony of wealth._

Bruce sat on the floor behind Tony, spreading and outstretching his legs in a 'V' on either side of Tony's knees.

"Lean back against me, Tone."

With Tony's back pressed against his chest, Bruce could feel every shudder, every moan, every dry heave. It made Bruce grimace involuntarily each time, to feel Tony's suffering so tangibly rocking against him. His only consolation was that he was helping to support Tony comfortably, and that Tony could not see Bruce's own pained expression. 

He braced his palm against Tony's clammy forehead briefly, trying to anchor him. 

_Anything to help his boyfriend._

They sat like this until Bruce's back started to ache, so he reached out an arm behind him for extra support and alternated arms occasionally. 

Many of these days, nothing came easy to Tony, not the restful reprieve from nightmares, or the break in daily flashbacks and subsequent panic attacks, or the relief from nausea now.

Suddenly Tony bolted upright and dragged his face above the bowl just as the wet retching started. His stomach piteously rejected a yellowish mixture as Bruce rubbed his back soothingly. 

When it looked like he was done, Bruce one-handedly shut the lid and flushed to avoid toilet mist spraying into Tony's face, his other hand still resolutely supporting Tony's back. Then he re-opened the lid in case there was a round two, if Tony's twisted expression was anything to go by.

More times than he'd liked, he had seen Tony praying to the porcelain god, mostly drunk and still rambling between waves. 

Bruce didn't like the drunkenness but he hated the sickness even more. Tony didn't bring this on himself, and the quiet mewling broke his heart.

"N'thing left." Tony conceded after more futile heaving, despite still looking like he was sick to his stomach. This uncertainty and not-quite-relief didn't afflict him when he was drunk either.

_Time to help Tony and stop scrutinizing him and feeling sorry. He hates that._

Cup of water, dixie cup of mouthwash. This part of the aftermath was routine for both of them. Tony rinsed his mouth a few times, then gargled with mouthwash.

\----------------  
"Cold towel please." Tony swallowed his words. He hated how his voice shook, and couldn't bear to lift his head to meet Bruce's eyes.

This part was also fairly routine, and a cold, wet face cloth was pressed against his hand almost immediately. Tony scrubbed vigorously at his face. Bruce would hold him close whenever he got sick (not drunk, but sick) and he didn't want to smell of lingering vomit.

He could feel Bruce's gaze on him, kind and expectant. Usually, wiping his face was the last segment of his pathetic song-and-dance when he was drunk. Then he'd usually stagger into bed. Right now, he wanted to get out of this suffocating bathroom where his body had betrayed him.

_I don't have the energy to move. I can't even get up._

"Legs l' jelly." Tony slurred. "Oh." Bruce breathed his understanding quietly. Tony didn't know he could feel even more ashamed, but he did.

Bruce scooped him up effortlessly, gently, jostling him to the minimum as he carried him out of the bathroom.

Tony swiped at his teary eyes, trying to be covert. There was nothing left in his stomach but he didn't feel much better. He told himself he should feel loved to be so cared for by someone amazing like Bruce, but he only felt beyond humiliated by his weakness.

"Fresh air. C' we go outside?" the older man's voice sounded small and hesitant against Bruce's chest.

"Of course, baby." Bruce carried him out onto the balcony, setting Tony down on the sofa.

"I'll get you some apple juice, do you need anything else?" Bruce asked.

_You._

Tony shook his head. He liked the sweet fruitiness of apple juice to calm his stomach, and he liked Bruce by his side even more.

Bruce returned with a scotch glass of apple juice and a bottle of water. "Small sips Tone, remember what happened the last time?" 

_No, he didn't. He was shit-faced drunk the last time he got sick, but whatever he did couldn't have been pretty._

_How could someone be so patient with him?_

Tony forced an inward laugh about drinking the antidote from a scotch glass. "Closest clean glass I could find." Bruce shrugged, as though reading Tony's mind.

Bruce eased the empty glass out of Tony's hand and set it on the table.

Tony couldn't stay upright much longer. He stretched out along the length of the sofa and made room for Bruce, looking up at him pleadingly. 

Bruce laid down beside him without hesitation. They shifted until Bruce was lying flat on his back and Tony was lying on his side, comfortably sandwiched between the seatback and Bruce. Bruce slid one arm under Tony to hug his back.

Tony gripped Bruce's free hand tightly, as though the fist gauntlet was on. He didn't know where this strength came from when he could barely help himself in the bathroom, but he needed Bruce. 

He had already used up his dignity quota for the day, what was one more display of weakness? Bruce never shamed Tony for his moments of neediness, never even gave any indication of minding.

Finally his world felt righted. It wasn't okay, but it was balanced at least. His hand savored the warmth of Bruce's hairy knuckles. Beneath his cheek was the silkiness of Bruce's shirt, and he could almost feel the familiar coils of chest hair under it. 

Up close he saw the grey five o'clock shadow that had bloomed on Bruce's handsome face. In the distance, the orange sun was setting and lighting up the horizon. 

_He would be okay, someday. As long as Bruce was here._

**Author's Note:**

>  _"Your heart is aching, your heart is my home /_  
>  _It's fascinating /_  
>  _I know I'll never be alone."_  
>  \- U2, Mercy


End file.
